Faith in Focus

Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God My name is Emilio. But when my mother said Emilio Alfonso , I knew something was not right. It was the same name… but spoken in a different way. And that change of tone said everything. I think we have all had a similar experience. A name is not just a word. A name creates relationship. And the way a name is spoken completely changes what we are experiencing. It is not the same to hear your name spoken with closeness as it is with correction; it is not the same when it is spoken with affection as when it carries the weight of seriousness. The Gospel invites us to pay attention to something that seems small, but is decisive: the name given to the Child . Saint Luke tells us with striking simplicity: “When eight days were completed for his circumcision, he was named Jesus.” This is not a secondary detail. It is not just another legal formality. Mary and Joseph do not choose the name. They receive it. The child is not named after his human fathe...

Seventh Day in the Octave of Christmas   There are moments in life when staying feels harder than leaving. Moments when continuing seems heavier than starting over. Moments when faith, vocation, the Church, or even an important relationship feels fragile—tired, wounded. In those moments, many people ask themselves the same question— even if they are not always brave enough to say it out loud: Is it worth remaining? Scripture does not avoid this reality. It does not idealize faith or community. On the contrary, it names it with a sobriety that can be almost unsettling. The first reading today says something strong, but deeply real: “They went out from us…” Not as a judgment, but as a fact. From the very beginning of faith, not everyone who is close remains. Some leave. Some grow tired. Some lose their way. But we must be clear about something: to remain does not mean never doubting . It does not mean never experiencing questions, disappointments, or wounds. ...

  (1 Jn 2:12–17 / Lk 2:36–40) Saint John makes a striking statement: “You have conquered the Evil One.” He is not speaking to visible heroes, but to ordinary Christians. And immediately he clarifies that this victory does not consist in possessing the world, because “the world and its allure are passing away.” The problem is not living in the world, but absolutizing it , allowing it to decide what truly matters. That is why Saint John reminds us that the Christian’s true strength is not found in what we have, but in the fact that the Word of God remains in us . The Gospel shows us this truth in a concrete way. Anna does not conquer the world by escaping from it, but by remaining faithful . In silence, prayer, and perseverance, she refuses to be shaped by what is passing. And precisely because of this, she is able to recognize the Messiah when He arrives. Over the years, as a priest, I have seen this same quiet victory in families within our parish. I remember one family in p...

  `December 26 Today’s first reading presents Stephen to us in a very clear way. The Book of Acts does not describe him as an activist or a rebel. He does not appear as someone seeking confrontation, nor as someone trying to win an argument or impose an idea. Scripture defines him with three precise expressions: full of grace, full of power, and full of the Holy Spirit . And that changes everything. Stephen does not speak out of strategy. He does not defend himself with violence. He does not respond with hatred. He simply bears witness , and he does so from deep docility to the Spirit. What Jesus promised in the Gospel is fulfilled in him literally: “It will not be you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.” This is very important for us today, because we live in a deeply polarized society. A society that constantly pushes us to take sides, to choose a camp, to react immediately. The moment someone raises their voice to say, “I disagree,” they are qui...

  Christmas – Mass During the Day   The human being is not, first of all, a being defined by mistakes. At the deepest level, the human person is a being of desire. We live moved by what we long for. We desire to love and to be loved, to be seen and understood, not to be alone. We desire life to have meaning, to be more than the simple passing of days. And this is not a problem or a flaw. This is how we were created. Desire itself is not sin; desire is the imprint of God on the human heart. The drama at the beginning of human history was not the act of desiring. It was desiring in the wrong way. It was not wanting to be like God, but wanting to be like God without God. Eve and Adam did not seek something small. They sought fullness, life, and likeness. But they chose a shortcut. They tried to fulfill their desire apart from trust, apart from God’s time, and apart from God’s way. From that moment on, human history became filled with misdirected desires: endless searches,...

  Christmas – Meditation on readings at Midnight Mass Every Christmas we return to the same place. A simple manger. Mary and Joseph. A Child wrapped in swaddling clothes. The cold of the night. Poverty. Silence. Over the years, we have learned how to look at that scene. We have seen the shepherds arrive. We have followed the star with the Magi. We have listened to the song of the angels. And that is good. It is the scene the Church has given us to contemplate the mystery. But tonight, I invite you to look at the manger with a different gaze, from a story that comes from far away. Because before Mary, before Joseph, before Abraham and David, there was a woman. The first mother. The one who knew the garden. The one who heard the voice of God in the beginning. From her, humanly speaking, our whole story is born. Eve. That night, in silence, Eve approaches the manger. She comes after a long journey, carrying the weight of that first mistake. S...

  Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Advent The first reading gives us very strong images. It speaks of the refiner’s fire, of the launderer’s soap, of the one who sits down to purify silver. These are intense images, but they are deeply hopeful. Today, I would like to focus on just one of them: the refiner’s fire. Fire does not act the same way on everything. On gold, it purifies. On impurities, it makes them visible. Fire does not invent anything; it reveals what was already there. That is why there is an old saying that goes: “Gold is tested in fire, and a person is tested in adversity.” Trials do not change a person; they reveal them. They bring to the surface what is true, what is deep, what truly matters. When the Gospel speaks about John the Baptist, people ask, “What then will this child be?” John was a man shaped by fire. He did not seek comfort. He did not choose the easy path. He lived a life of austerity, sacrifice, and truth. That fire did not destroy him. It ...

  Fourth Sunday of Advent   We have reached the Fourth Sunday of Advent , and with it emerges a deeply human desire, perhaps one of the quietest and most universal of all: the desire not to be alone . The desire for companionship. The desire to know that someone walks with us and that our life matters to another. Throughout this season of Advent, we have been reflecting, Sunday after Sunday, on some of the deepest desires of the human heart . On the first Sunday, we spoke about the desire for a future and for hope , the need to know that life does not close in on itself. Then we reflected on the desire for justice , that longing for what is good that lives deep within the human heart. Last Sunday, we paused to reflect on the desire for joy and peace , a joy that does not depend on everything being perfect, but on knowing that we are sustained. Today, as we arrive at the Fourth Sunday of Advent , another equally deep desire appears: the desire not to be alone , t...

  Friday of the Third Week of Advent Human beings, throughout history, tend to grow weary of the ordinary. When life feels repetitive, when routines weigh heavily and answers seem distant, we begin to look for something that lifts us beyond the everyday. We do not always seek deep explanations; often, we look for extraordinary stories , narratives that entertain us, that allow us to dream, that restore the sense that there is something greater than our daily routine. That is why the contemporary world is filled with superheroes . Movies, series, and novels present figures with extraordinary powers, capable of saving the world and defeating evil through superhuman strength. They are fascinating characters, but in the end, they are fictional . They are born from human imagination to fill a void, to respond to the desire that someone might come and rescue us from what we cannot fix on our own. Yet today, the Word of God presents us with something far more surprising. Not fictiona...

Thursday of the Third Week of Advent   The first reading from the prophet Jeremiah announces that God will raise up a “just shoot” from the line of David. This is not a powerful king according to worldly standards, but one who will bring salvation, justice, and peace . That promise is fulfilled in Jesus. Yet today’s Gospel also invites us to focus on another essential figure: Saint Joseph , whom Scripture explicitly calls a just man . For many of us, being just means simply following the law. But in the biblical mindset—especially within the Jewish tradition—the just person is not the one who merely fulfills the minimum requirements of the law , but the one who goes beyond it, allowing the law to be illuminated by mercy. In Scripture, justice is not rigidity; it is faithfulness to the heart of God. Joseph knows the law well. And according to the law, he had reasons to denounce Mary, to protect his reputation, to defend himself. Yet the Gospel tells us that he did not want ...

  All of us carry a story. A story shaped by good decisions and poor ones, by moments of light and by pages we would rather not reread. None of us arrives here with a life perfectly ordered. And yet, here we are—breathing, believing, waiting. That alone already says something important. When we hear today the ancient names from Scripture—names that sound distant, unfamiliar, even difficult—we might feel they have little to do with us. But behind every one of those names is a real life: fragile, incomplete, marked by failure and hope. It is a very human humanity. And it is precisely there that something decisive happens. God does not wait for human history to be flawless before entering it. He does not stand at a distance. He does not erase what has been. God does not deny human history; He passes through it to give it meaning. The Incarnation takes place within a concrete history, with all its light and shadow, not outside of it. Scripture does not hide the wounds of the ...

  Tuesday of the Third Week of Advent The prophet Zephaniah speaks to us today about a poor and humble remnant . And as I prayed with these readings, I found myself thinking that very often this is exactly how God works: without noise, without spectacle, without drawing attention to Himself . After denouncing a city that was proud, self-sufficient, and closed in on itself, the Lord makes a surprising promise: “I will leave in your midst a people humble and lowly; they shall take refuge in the name of the Lord.” When we hear the word remnant , we often imagine a group that is small because it is weak or insignificant. But in the Bible, that is not the case. The remnant is not what is left over after failure; the remnant is what remains faithful . It is a people who do not impose themselves, who do not boast, who do not make noise—but who continue to trust in the Lord. The psalm responds today with a deep and consoling truth: “The Lord hears the cry of the poor.” Not ...

 The Joy That Blooms in the Desert Last week here in Wyoming, we experienced something many people find difficult to imagine. The wind blew with tremendous force—strong enough to overturn trucks and disrupt daily life. For those unfamiliar with this land, such stories can sound frightening. It is understandable that some, hearing this, might wonder why anyone would choose to live in a place so demanding. Yet those who have decided to stay, those who have learned how to live here, know something deeper. Wyoming is not understood only through its wind, cold, or snow. It is understood through love for the land, through the decision to remain, through trust in God, and through the care we show one another along the way. Only when we learn to look beyond the gusts and harsh weather do we begin to notice a hidden beauty. And then the words of the prophet Isaiah begin to resonate more deeply—words that speak of a desert that blooms . Over these weeks, we have been walking a shared s...

  Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe Brothers and sisters, To understand the message of Guadalupe, we need to remember the world in which Saint Juan Diego lived. The Indigenous peoples had just suffered the collapse of their entire world: wars, epidemics, the loss of loved ones, cultural destruction, and a deep spiritual void. Their ancient civilizations were rich in art, knowledge, and faith, yet they had also known conflicts among tribes and forms of oppression. In the midst of that pain, Juan Diego —humble, poor, newly baptized, and caring for a sick uncle— represented a wounded people searching for comfort. And it was precisely to him, to the small and the weary, that God sent His Mother. God draws near to those who suffer The first reading from Zechariah invites us to rejoice because the Lord promises: “I myself am coming to dwell among you.” This promise was made to a fragile, insecure people who felt displaced. And that was exactly the experience of Juan Diego and so man...

  “God Takes the Weak by the Hand and Makes Them Strong”   Brothers and sisters, today’s first reading opens with one of the most tender and most powerful lines in Scripture: “I am the Lord your God, who take hold of your right hand; it is I who help you.” It is not a command, not a reproach—just a gesture. A Father bending down to lift a child who can barely walk. Israel felt fragile, insignificant, overshadowed by powerful empires. Isaiah calls them “the worm of Jacob,” not to belittle them, but to remind them that their worth does not come from their size but from the hand that holds them . And then God uses a surprising image: “I will make you a new threshing sledge with double teeth.” In biblical times, such a threshing sledge was not a light tool; it was a strong, reinforced instrument capable of breaking hard ground, leveling what seemed impossible, preparing soil for new seed. It is as if God were saying: “You feel weak… but in My hands you can face what on...

    Brothers and sisters, we all know what fatigue feels like. The tiredness of the body, the tiredness of the soul, the exhaustion one feels in the bones, in the mind, in the heart. Isaiah acknowledges it with great honesty: “Even youths grow tired and grow weary; the young stumble and fall.” Scripture does not hide this experience. It does not say that those who believe never grow tired. On the contrary, weariness is part of the human journey… and also part of the spiritual journey. And here the first light of the text appears: weariness is not a sign of weak faith. Rather, it is the place where faith begins to speak. Because when we are exhausted, when we feel we have no strength left, it is there that we discover we must lean on Another. We discover we do not walk alone. We discover that the spiritual life is not an endurance competition, but a relationship of trust. Isaiah reminds us: “He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.” ...

  The Gospel of the lost sheep presents to us, more than a pastoral scene, an encounter between two movements: the movement of the human being who seeks—sometimes without knowing exactly what he is seeking—and the movement of God, who deeply desires to find us. In this parable, the divine desire and the human search cross paths, two movements that seem opposite, but in the end irresistibly attract each other. We usually imagine the lost sheep as the most fragile of the flock. But perhaps it is time to see her differently: what if that sheep was actually the most honest one? The most restless one? The only one who still carried a living question within? Maybe she did not wander off out of carelessness, but because she carried an inner longing that the others no longer felt. Perhaps she sensed that the place where everyone remained was not enough for the desire of her heart. In the spiritual life, this happens often. Some people drift away not because they reject God, but because ...